


The Punishment

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Michael!Dean, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Castiel knows Michael cannot be trusted to relinquish control of Dean after killing Lucifer. But Michael knows better than to allow Castiel to remain a threat. When Michael shatters Castiel, it’s up to Sam to pick up the pieces.





	1. Betrayal

“You’re not taking him!”

Michael sneered through Dean’s face. A human would only see Dean, but Castiel could see the archangel beneath the surface. He knew. His own grace trembled with knowing. Michael would never give up his sword. 

“Michael!” he screamed. 

The angel inside his best friend was laughing while Dean himself assured him it would all be all right. “Relax, Cas. I’m going to finish this. Mikey gets it. This is a one time habitation, just long enough to ice the devil. It’s...it’s how I save Sam, man. And Jack. I’m in control. That was the deal.”

Castiel had seen the deal. He could also see the power flowing from the true vessel like steam rising from hot pavement. Power, unlike any Michael had ever accessed before. “He’s not going to allow that for long, Dean! He cannot he trusted to-“

Then the blue flash interrupted his warning, and Castiel’s tongue went dry mid-word. “Castiel,” the most powerful of all angels said in the voice of his dear friend. 

He trembled down to the tips of his primary feathers. But he stood his ground, gathered his own voice back to him. Was he a seraph or wasn’t he? Was he a soldier? A guardian? Was he a true friend? He lifted his chin to glower darkly into those blue eyes. “You can’t have Dean Winchester. I won’t let you. Go, and do what you must, and kill our brother, but the Winchesters and Jack are under my protection. Once you’ve killed Lucifer, if you don’t vacate this vessel, I will force you out.” 

How he would manage that, he hadn’t a clue. It had taken Crowley’s help for Sam to evict Gadreel, because he had managed to trick Sam. Sam had a breathtaking will, as Lucifer and the Michael of their world had learned years ago. But Gadreel had been smarter-more paranoid?-and less arrogant than Lucifer, who had allowed Sam to observe. The devil had made the same mistake with Castiel. Threatening Sam was a poor choice on Lucifer’s part. Castiel couldn’t sit idly back as his own hands tried to snuff out Sam Winchester. So Castiel had shoved himself to the surface, and Lucifer had been forced to bury him far deeper next time. 

But Michael was smart. Dean thought he was in charge, and maybe so...for now. It wouldn’t take long for Michael to betray their agreement once the deed was done, to bury Dean so deep he could never resurface. And Dean? If Sam were safe, would Dean keep fighting? Coming between the brothers was the quickest means of suicide, for any creeping creature, hellspawn or celestial. But if Michael helped Dean save Sam, would the man still have enough fight left to expel Michael? There was no question if Sam needed him. But if he didn’t…

Michael was watching him with amusement and conceit. “You think to threaten me? You? Your counterpart on my end of the portal is a psychotic torturer, both a hero and an abomination. He once interrogated Alistair, Hell’s most devout torturer, for three days without rest. It was what finally led me to Lilith, and from her to Lucifer.”

Castiel lifted a brow. “And I ended that Castiel with one of our killing blades. He was most intent upon teaching me that we were similar in design, if not motivation. I showed him how we each die. And he was not the seraph I am. We were hardly evenly matched. The advantage was mine.” Except his wings, a sorrowful part of his mind cried out. That Castiel had use of his wings. He himself would probably never fly again. 

Intelligent eyes scanned his face. “That’s nothing to me. It seems you are a freak in every universe. You can’t intimidate me, Castiel. I’m Michael. I’m the Firstborn, the good Son, the heir to the throne of Heaven.”

“And you’ll give back that vessel, or I’ll evict you myself,” he said again. “If you won’t be honorable in your agreement with my friend, I will not rest until-“

“Then it is strategic to eliminate you now. I won’t kill you. As I understand it, angels, and therefore grace refills, are scarce here. But I can’t have you at my back either.” 

Castiel had only an instant to frown and draw a breath, and then his brother was on him. It was like Lucifer all over again. No, it was like Raphael, cold and brutal and exact. Pain ripped through him, as Michael rent his wings with Dean’s hands, shredding them down to the broken foundation. 

It was precise and ritualistic in a way Castiel barely remembered. Not since the First Civil War of Heaven had he known an angel to undergo this punishment. It was reserved only for angels who would not choose a side, who watched to see who would rule Heaven at the end of the battles. When Michael succeeded in banishing his brother under dozens of seals, he destroyed or sent to Hell Lucifer’s lieutenants, the Princes, and the lesser pawns. Then he had turned to those who had waited and watched, and exacted the punishment on each of them personally. Castiel could remember his ears and grace bleeding with the screams of his brothers and sisters. He had turned away, and tried to believe it was God’s will. 

This was not God’s will. Castiel knew God now, and what was more, Dean knew Him. God continuously brought Castiel back to aid the Winchester family. Castiel knew better now. Through his own horrible screams, he found himself praying, not to God, because of course He had left. No, he prayed to that which had never broken his faith in all these years. 

He prayed to Sam and Dean. 

“You blaspheme, Castiel,” Michael scolded. “But I’ll deal with you later. I’m killing a brother today, but not you.” The mighty angel blinked away. 

Dean would be conscious of everything when Michael joined Sam and Jack to finally end Lucifer. He would be in control. But after?

He had to get up. He had to get to Dean! He had to stop what was coming somehow, the betrayal he could practically smell coming. Dean and Jack needed him. Sam needed him! He had to get up...


	2. Lance’s Source

Sam led Jack down the bunker stairs in silence. It felt too much like the day Dean had gone to face the Darkness alone, when the sun had brightened and Sam’s soul had gone still. Dean was buried under Michael now. The only thing to do was to regroup and find a way to save him. It was what they did.

Jack was devastated. His father betrayed him. He had been forced to decide between his life and Sam’s, which had truly been no choice at all. He had tried to die, even as he could hear his mother’s voice screaming in his head, reminding him what she had been through just so he might live. Then he had watched his uncle Michael, possessing a man he thought of as uncle Dean, kill his father, then steal away Dean from his family. He had told all this to Sam on their drive home, had wept all his tears. Now he was quiet. There was nothing left but grief and exhaustion.

“Cas will be there for you,” Sam had said over and over. It was all he could think to say to a boy who had lost his mother, his father, and a strong-if sometimes harsh-mentor. Kelly and Dean were gone, the dream of a father in Lucifer, dead. But Castiel was forever. Castiel would be there. It was what kept Sam going too. Castiel would be-

“Castiel!” Jack screamed suddenly, pushing past Sam as he dove through the bunker.

Sam pulled his gun, but also thought of his angel blade. Dean! If the threat was in his brother’s skin, could he use the blade? What good would it do anyway, against Michael? It had never worked against Lucifer. It hadn’t even worked against Castiel on the horrible day when Sam had been forced to shove one into the chest of the new and better god. But even if he thought it might work on Michael, could he do it while he was wearing Dean? Could he have used that demon blade against his brother years ago? Could he bring himself to even try the angel blade now? Over a decade now since Meg had worn Sam as a meatsuit, and no matter what Sam did, Dean would rather die than hurt him. And now?

All these thoughts scrambled through his brain in an instant. In the next, Sam was lowering his weapon and dropping to his knees in a slide to reach for his oldest, dearest friend outside of his brother. “Cas!”

“He’s not healing!” Jack wailed. “My power-I lost too much grace! It isn’t enough! Why isn’t he healing?”

“No. No, no, no, no! Bobby! Mom! Jack, run for Bobby! Now! Cas!” he cried as the boy raced away.

The dark head lolled on its neck when Sam lifted it. Sam had been forced to tend to Castiel in the past; he knew how solid he was. Now, though, he seemed too light, too limp in his grasp. “Jack,” a breath whispered.

Sam’s heart was breaking in his chest. “Cas, how-how did this happen? Did Lucifer somehow-but he was-“

“Sam?” Castiel’s eyes fought to open. “Sam, Dean is not safe. He-he gave himself to Michael to-to save you...Are you saved, Sam?”

Too much! This world had asked too much of Sam and his family! They had saved the world, over and over, and they had brought down the head of the Leviathans, Eve, Mother of All, Princes of Hell, false gods and real ones, the mighty Men of Letters, and the Alpha vampire, and finally the Devil himself! What more did they owe?

Not Castiel. Tears splashed down Sam’s cheeks, and he shook his head. Not Castiel. He had lost everything, all his life. Not Castiel. Not again.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m okay. Jack is...He’s going to be okay too. And Dean. We’ll get there. What happened to you? Are you saying Michael did this?”

And did what, exactly? He frantically searched Castiel, found no wounds he deemed significant enough to account for all the blood everywhere, all the pain Castiel seemed to be in.

“Cas, tell me how to help you!”

“Can’t help me, Sam. But you’ll try. You sweet, loyal thing.” At last, the eyes opened, and the angel peered up at him with a very strange awe. “Sam Winchester. The boy with the angel’s heart.”

Panic beset Sam without mercy. Castiel had stopped making any sense. “Cas, tell me how to help you!” he demanded. “What’s wrong with you! I can’t find a wound! Is it a spell?”

Castiel simply smiled very sadly, and closed his eyes again. “Loyal,” he sighed again.

“His wings!” Jack cried out behind him.

Sam turned to stare.

Bobby and Mary pushed in to see what was going on. They exchanged glances, but said nothing.

“Jack?” Sam insisted.

Horror was written into poor Jack’s face. “Who could do this? Not my...not Lucifer. Michael. He did this to Castiel.”

Bobby took a cautious step toward the boy. “Did what, son? What’s wrong with his wings? We can’t see them, you know.”

“They’ve been stripped, torn down to the raw grace.” The nephilim’s voice was quiet, almost reverent.

Sam turned back to look at his friend. “What’s that mean, Jack?”

“His wings are…” He struggled to find the words. “They’re damaged. Badly, badly damaged. Can you...can you turn him so I can…”

Castiel let out a groan as Sam lifted him for Jack’s gaze.

“It’s horrible,” Jack reported in a breath. “It’s like...they’ve been stripped, like they’re…”

Nausea swept through Sam. He felt sweat bead at his throat and forehead. “You mean like they’ve been...flayed?”

Jack blinked, but continued staring at his surrogate father. “I’m not sure what that means. Somehow, his wings have been physically ripped apart but also burned through. Like layers have been seared off.”

“Will that kill him?” Sam screamed. “Cas? Cas, is this killing you?”

The young celestial shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t...I don’t think so. But I don’t know how he can recover. And he won’t heal.”

Blue eyes fluttered open, then closed again. “Don’t want to heal,” a hoarse voice confessed. “Let me die.”

It was Mary who spoke up then. “Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to do that. Not in this family. Where’s Dean?”

Sam took the question like a dagger to his lungs. “Mom…”

Bobby took a deep breath. “All right, angel. I’m still convinced you’re one of the good guys. And there ain’t enough of those left in either world. So we’re going to put you back together again.”

Sam watched his mother and Bobby head back for the door, grabbing Jack’s arms on their way. “Where are you going?” he rasped out.

“To get all the king’s horses and all of his men, evidently,” Mary responded. “Stay with him, Sam. Jack, come on. Sam will take care of Castiel, while we figure out a way to save him.”

Into the sudden silence, Sam whispered to his friend. “Cas? I need you to be okay, man. Look, I get it, okay? I’ve been there. Hell, you’ve been there! It hurts so bad you want to just roll over and die. But you can’t.”

“Not like this,” Castiel gasped. “Never like this. Only once have I ever felt anything like it. The Lance.”

Chill struck Sam like a physical blow. “The Lance? Michael’s Lance? That nearly killed you, Cas! Is that what’s going to happen now?”

“No. No, Sam. The pain will remain even if I heal.”

“Can I help somehow? Please, Cas. I can’t help Dean, and I can’t help Jack. Please tell me there’s something I can do for you!” His heart ached terribly.

The pained smile was weak as his voice. “I think I’d like to not be on the floor, Sam.”

Sam sighed, and reached deep to collect Castiel in his arms, and did his best to be gentle as he walked him-dragged him-to the hall. By the time he had finally lay his friend on his own bed, Castiel’s breathing was labored and thick. “God, you sound awful.”

It was just like Castiel to find the strength to glower at him. “I will endeavor to suffer in silence,” he snapped.

Sam huffed a sad laugh. “Sorry. Would...water help?”

He shook his head just enough to get his point across.

“You really aren’t going to die?”

“Part of me is already healing. And part will never heal. And I want to die, but your mother is right. Michael took Dean?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked. “That psycho angel has my brother. What are we going to do?”

Castiel licked at his lips. “It hurts, Sam. I can’t...You’ll have to do the thinking for us both for now.”

He watched Castiel struggle to breathe, and swallowed down his own despair. “You know what? Dean is all right for now. Michael isn’t going to kill him. And we aren’t going to stop till he’s home. It kills me to think about it, but he’s as safe as he can be right now. Hell, he’s safer than anybody else on Michael’s radar. On the other hand, you’re in bad shape, dude. One problem at a time. Till we can fix the Michael thing, let’s work on fixing you.”

“There is no pain which can keep me from helping Dean. I promise you that.”

“I know, man. I know. But that ain’t why we gotta help you. You know that, right? Not for nothing, Cas, but there have been plenty of times you’ve gone powerless on us at a key moment. Your ability to help in a fight isn’t even close to the best reason for keeping you alive.”

Blue eyes narrowed into slits as Castiel puzzled this over.

“You’re family, man. You know that. And we love you. I love you.” The last bit choked out without Sam’s permission, and he hurried to break their locked gaze. “I mean...you know what I mean.”

But Castiel was still watching him, and for the first time, there was a bit of relief in the angel’s voice when he spoke, a softness that sounded more wistful than hurt. “I hope so,” he sighed. “I hope I know what you mean.”

Sam stumbled to his feet awkwardly. “Rest, buddy. I’m going to check in with Jack and Mom and Bobby. I’ll be back.”

He rushed from the room quicker than necessary, and went in search of someone whose eyes didn’t make his heart beat out of rhythm.


	3. Worth

Mary was checking on Sam as much as she was checking on his angel. Castiel didn’t mind. Of the two of them, Castiel might feel more physical pain, but poor Sam was a writhing mass of guilt and worry. 

“Jack healed you,” Mary was whispering when Castiel tuned back in. “He’s a good boy. I’m glad.”

Sam smiled grimly. “Yeah. Lucifer did a number on us both. But Jack put me right again. I’m glad Bobby’s taking him under his wing. So to speak. With Cas out of commission and me looking after Cas, Bobby makes a good mentor. I know. Our world’s Bobby...Well, we called him uncle growing up. I think Dean was kind of becoming that for Jack...But now…”

“Sam, I’m going to find him. I promise.”

“And you have to do it with Ketch, huh?” Sam growled. 

Mary gave him a smirk. “He’s the best tracker I’ve ever worked with. And if he dies, no big loss.”

Sam snickered. “Yeah. Dean said something similar. And he’s got a creepy special interest in keeping you alive. If he doesn’t die, I might have to kill him. Again.”

“I can handle Ketch.”

At last, Sam gave her an adoring, true smile. “I know you can. You’re incredible.”

She smiled back. “You and your angel just take some time to heal. As soon as I know where Michael has taken Dean, I’ll…” She laughed. “I’ll put up the bat signal, as Jody put it.”

“She’s got her girls on this too, right? This is an all hands on deck situation.”

“And we’ve got some of our boys from the other side on it too. If there’s anything they know, it’s signs of an angel causing mischief.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you. Thank them for me. I know I should be out there…”

“Sam, Bobby is right. Sentiment aside, the best strategy is for you and Castiel to be here. If Michael comes looking for us here, you’re our front line of defense. And you’re Dean’s best chance. So rest up now, because if the hunt circles back and comes after us, you’ll need to be ready.” She kisses Sam gently on the forehead. “We will find Michael and save Dean. I’m not losing any of my boys. And that includes this hard-headed angel here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Castiel ground out hoarsely. 

Sam turned to him with worried eyes. “Cas! You’re awake?”

“Angels don’t sleep, Sam.”

Mary winked at her son. “Sure they don’t. Look at you two. I used to tell my boys that angels were watching over them. And now my little Sam is watching over his angel.” She put a calloused but gentle hand on Castiel’s cheek, and it felt like a balm. “Rest, Castiel. When I find my older son, I’ll call for you. And until then, let his little brother care for you.”

As Mary slipped out silently, Sam stared after her. 

Castiel closed his eyes again. It hurt to keep them open. “She seems very optimistic,” he croaked. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah. She says she’s got a feeling. I don’t know why. But she’s certain Dean’s going to be fine. Or at least she’s convinced me that she’s certain. I gotta say, it’s nice to let someone else be the optimist for this one.” 

He felt a small smile brush his lips. “You’re our optimist, Sam. Always. When Dean and I are ready to curl up and let the world burn around us, you’re always there to push us to keep fighting, no matter how the odds are stacked against us.”

Sam was watching him now. He could feel it. “Cas, you always keep fighting. That’s just you.”

“Maybe. But I never expect to win. Probably because I usually don’t. It’s more of a fatalistic obstinacy than optimism.”

His hunter gave a small laugh. “Whatever gets the job done, man. And, hey. I’m sorry that-I don’t know why my mom keeps referring to you lately as-as, you know, as my angel. Sorry about that.”

Sorry. Castiel sighed. How long had he thought of himself as Sam’s angel? How long had Sam been his human, at least in the chaotic quiet of his own mind? But Sam was sorry. “It’s fine, Sam. Whatever remains of the thing that was once Castiel belongs to the family of Winchesters. For whatever it’s worth, I’ll be your angel to the end.”

He could sense Sam’s flinch. “Don’t you think that’s worth everything? Cas, you’re not just an angel! Not any more than Dean is just a vessel. You’re...you’re Castiel!”

There came a soft snort in response. “As I said. For whatever that’s worth. Sam, do you know what it is that Michael did to me?”

“He...Jack said it was like he flayed your wings.” Sam’s voice was soft and sympathetic but deliberately free of pity.

“It is known as The Punishment. Beyond being cast down or killed, it is the only true sentence a guilty angel can earn, and it is only meted out by one being.”

“Michael,” Sam breathed. 

“Michael. It is The Punishment Michael gives to angels who are worthless, who are not even worth the effort of destroying. An angel without worth has no need of his wings, needs only the pain of their loss, and that only to remind him of his value.” The words flowed from him with bitter memories of the humiliation borne by his Punished brethren after the Great War. They were the words spoken by Michael to the condemned just before thrashing into their wings. “Worthless.” He tasted the word, licked its saltiness from his lips, and that was when he realized he was allowing tears to fall. 

Frustration filled him everywhere, and he turned away from Sam, from those curious, beautiful eyes belonging to a man who was a hundredfold more an angelic soldier than Castiel had ever been. Worthless. Deserving only of the pain he couldn’t escape, which would follow him all his days, and the great shame of having been marked forever by the greatest of all Heavenly warriors. An angel without worth, sentenced to continue living in humiliation, walking aimlessly where he should have flown with purpose, deaf to the Revelations but not to the scorn of his family. 

Worthless. And Castiel had thought he had fallen as hard as one could fall. So worthless and stupid. Undeserving of Heaven’s grace and certainly undeserving of his hunter’s heart.

But that was hardly news. 

Sam was staring at him again. “That’s horrible, Cas! Why do angels have to be so horrible to each other?”

A strange smile broke through his grief. “The Punishment harkens back to our Great War, Sam. But need I remind you of your own? Reapers imbibe when they tell stories of that time. Men are horrible to one another too. And you’re often far more creative.” 

When he opened his eyes again, Sam was nodding, conceding the point. The large man was seated in a chair beside the bed, where Castiel lay. But now he lifted himself gingerly, and sat on the side of the bed itself, watching Castiel as if asking permission. 

It was a weird thing Sam did now and then. Dean was very tactile. He touched more, was sensitive of his personal space because he was so haptically inclined. Physical touch, Castiel had learned over these few years as his friend, was Dean’s way of understanding everything and everyone around him. He was generous when doling it out, and suspicious when receiving it. 

Sam was usually hesitant to touch. He hugged his brother easily, but only in times of great stress or great relief. He hugged Castiel, but rarely, and usually with a distancing awkwardness that was reflected in Castiel’s own implementation. Dean’s constant contact, even during dangerous moments, was a means of ensuring that his brother was all right, that Castiel was right there. He had even seen it in Purgatory when Dean had fought back to back with Benny, while Castiel broke rank to smite creatures. Dean’s hand was always there at Benny’s shoulder, just for an instant, before the fight began. Dean expressed everything in a brush of his hands, or an enthusiastic hug, or an obnoxious slinging of his heft around the shoulders. 

His brother was more reserved. While Dean’s physicality was a mostly subconscious means of communication and sensory perception, Sam’s seemed to be a calculated, cautious question. Unless it was with Dean, Sam’s every touch was premeditated, deliberate, studied, and achingly rare. 

So when Sam approached now, Castiel held his breath and became completely still, so as not to upset the contact he didn’t deserve, seldom received, and yet avariciously craved. Even as his wings throbbed with misery, he anticipated Sam’s touch with desperation. 

What sort of angel needed a man’s touch so madly?

Worthless. 

Sam took a moment to just perch on the mattress, as though part of him wanted to fly instead. At last, he let his gaze meet Castiel’s. 

The anguish spun into a dizziness when the powerful emotion of Sam’s eyes hit him. He lay still as dead weight, and yet he felt as though he were spinning, spiraling, falling like only Castiel knew how to fall. 

Sam’s hair fell to grace his cheeks as he leaned forward very slightly. He reached up to tuck one side behind an ear. 

Castiel wanted to do that for him. He had known Samson. He was convinced his mane was no match for Sam Winchester’s. The thought made him sigh. 

His hunter swallowed. “Castiel?”

“Yes, Sam.” Hearing his name on those lips would never be anything less than divinity. 

“I don’t pretend to know what you’re going through. I can’t imagine what it must feel like. But the meaning behind it? The meaning is that Michael is a fucking egomaniac just like Lucifer. It has nothing to do with your worth. Michael chose that method of hurting you because he knew it would be the most painful, both for your wings and your heart. I don’t care what it symbolizes. Michael doesn’t get to make you feel worthless. I know what you really are. You’re Castiel. You're a damn hero, man, and that’s just fact. Castiel is worthy. You’re worthy.”

The spinning slowed, and Castiel felt his tears washing him clean of Michael’s wrath. Michael was undoubtedly powerful. But this was Sam Winchester telling him he was a hero. Sam, who had taken Lucifer by his own throat and won. Sam Winchester was a legendary hero. 

And he thought Castiel was worthy. 

He smiled weakly, and nodded. “I followed Michael, as one of his most devoted soldiers, for eons. But Sam, I never knew what it was to follow my heart until I found you. If you call me worthy, it is so. There is no higher judge than you.”

Sam’s own smile trembled. “You should rest now, Cas.” 

He shrugged. “Will you watch over me, Sam?”

“I will, Cas. You have my word.”

Sam’s word was everything to an angel in pain.


	4. Ice

Angels didn’t sleep. But what was Castiel these days anyway? He was something incredible, something fascinating and beautiful, but was he an angel? For that matter, what was Sam? What was Dean? They championed humanity and free will for humans. But the brothers Winchester had become monsters and angel vessels, one a demon’s meatsuit and the other a demon knight of hell, and they had been Marked and fed on blood, and resurrected until whatever humanity they had left was barely recognizable. Even among hunters, they were oddities. Freaks. Sam had lost his soul, Dean had bargained his away. Dean had been seventy and then a teenager. Sam had been manipulated by Heaven and Hell since he was a baby. All three of them had recently been cartoons. So if Castiel was not a typical angel...well, that just made him more of a Winchester.

They were more like one another than they were like any other thing in the universe.

Sam kept up the motion with determination. There was very little he could do to ease Castiel’s pain, at least until Bobby and Jack finished tearing apart the library and any other source they could find. He was certain there was nothing he wouldn’t do. But this was all he could do, and he would do it tirelessly if it helped even a little.

The cool cloth had brought Castiel the only peace he had experienced since Michael’s attack. Sam had felt stupid suggesting it, but now was glad he had. Every time his angel sighed in his sleep, it renewed Sam’s resolve to never leave his side, unless it was to save his brother. Until that opportunity came, Sam would be there to soothe Castiel in any possible way.

The fact that Sam couldn’t help enjoying the act for its own sake was hardly the point. Demon blood excepted, Sam’s ability to deny his own desires was tried and proven. So relishing, adoring, gently worshipping the angel’s bare back beneath his hands was secondary to the relief it brought his friend.

Castiel sighed again, making Sam’s eyes close and his lips part, quite against his will. He wished with all his heart that he were touching Castiel under different circumstances. Better ones.

“Sam,” Castiel murmured.

He froze.

Castiel gave a low hum. “Please don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Sam tried to swallow, to no avail.

“It helps,” he explained, as if misunderstanding was causing Sam’s hesitation.

He forced a breath. He wondered if Castiel could hear his heartbeat. “I still don’t-I mean, I don’t really get how. I can’t touch your wings, and they’re what hurts.” He sounded like a moron. Sam was not a moron, and he hated it.

“All of me hurts, Sam. But the wings are a part of my true form which is not contained within the vessel; that’s true. But there is a part of my back which is connected to them in a very physical, painful way. I never felt that connection till now. And I wish I couldn’t.”

 _I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing_. Sam cringed with the remembered anguish, but pushed it aside to focus on the here and now. He hadn’t been able to help Dean then, and he couldn’t help him now either. But he could help Castiel.

“I’m sorry,” the angel whispered. “I’ve complained more than I should. I shouldn’t complain at all. And I shouldn’t be lying here useless while-“

Sam hurried to push Castiel’s shoulder as he attempted to lift himself. “No. Stop. You’re not complaining, Cas. You’re helping me learn how to help you. Please don’t try to get up right now. You’re exhausted.”

Castiel’s tiny snort was weirdly adorable. “I don’t know why,” he snapped. “I’ve done nothing but lie here and sulk for a full day.”

He smiled a little as he returned to rubbing Castiel’s skin with the cool cloth. “No. But now you’re sulking a little bit.”

A mildly indignant huff was his response.

Sam watched the way his angel’s strong back muscles relaxed again under his touch. Impulse struck, and he reached into the ice cooler beside the bed, which held water bottles and beer, and pulled out a large cube. He lay it on Castiel’s back.

Castiel sucked in his breath. “What is that?”

Sam hurried to grab the ice away. “Sorry. It’s-You said the cold helped, and-It’s ice. Sorry.”

“No! Sam, no, it’s good! It’s really good. Please.”

Something in the way Castiel asked for his help made Sam want to burst with a thousand emotions. He lowered the ice again, gathering more for the same purpose. He watched Castiel stiffen, then settle under the sensation, and heard him give the softest of moans as evidence of his relief. It made Sam’s own body react to watch Castiel this way.

“Will you still…?”

He blinked hard, and frowned at himself. “Yeah, of course! Sorry.” He placed the cloth over the ice, and continued running it across Castiel’s back.

There was quiet between them. Then: “Sam? Would you mind...Would you use your hands? Without the towel.”

If Castiel couldn’t hear his heartbeat now, Sam might believe in miracles again. He swallowed hard, and muttered another “Of course!” He removed the cloth and used his fingers to slowly run the ice across Castiel’s beautiful skin. His face was burning even as his hands cooled. He couldn’t help licking his lips, couldn’t help wanting to lick the little trails of water left behind by the ice as it melted. He wanted to kiss the cool water off of Castiel’s skin.

What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he just help his friend with his injury without-

Another sighing moan from the angel sent Sam leaping up from the bed. “Okay,” he yelped somewhat shrilly. “I’m going to-I should check on-“ He didn’t know what he should check on. But he needed to check on it right now.

“Sam?” Castiel twisted to stare at him. The position clearly brought him stinging pain, but he flinched through it. “Sam, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Guilt tightened his throat. “No. No, it’s me. I need a minute. Then I will be right back.”

There was plain disappointment in Castiel’s eyes when they lowered. “Sam, I like your touch. It helps me, staves off pain, but it also...It feels good. I like your touch.”

Feverish warmth covered him all over now. He shrugged helplessly at his friend.

“And, Sam, I think you might like touching me. It feels that way. Am I wrong?”

Now he shook his head, eyes wide with fear.

“I’m not wrong,” Castiel translated quietly. “Then will you? Please?”

Sam found himself without words, but he returned to his place beside Castiel on the bed, and this time, when he placed his hands on Castiel’s cool back, he let himself stare and feel without scolding from his mind.

The angel sighed, louder this time. “You feel good, Sam. Thank you for this. And thank you for telling me that you like it too.”

Sam’s hands trembled, but he continued doing what he could to ease Castiel’s suffering. “Thank you for letting me,” he murmured. “Thank you for asking me to.”

Castiel gave him a handsome smile before closing his eyes again.


	5. Timing

The pain was constant and cruel. Castiel had a new, horribly clear understanding of how hateful Michael could be, and it seared his lifelong memories. The Lance was forged to kill a very specific brother, and Castiel had no sympathy for Lucifer. But that extreme pain was not necessary for the destruction of the Devil. It was simply Michael’s cruel ego which added that element to the weapon. He would see his brother suffer before he died. And The Punishment had all the agony of the Lance and none of the promised death. Before Constantine and Tessa and the others, before Gadreel, Castiel had known only a handful of angels who had taken their own lives, eons ago. Each had been among the Punished. The pain and humiliation had pushed them into madness and turned them to sacrilege. 

But Castiel had something those angels had lacked. He had a reason to live. 

The soft, exploratory press of Sam’s lips on his, the hesitant, questioning lick of his tongue, the way his hand tightened on the muscle in Castiel’s arm, as though there was any chance of Castiel fleeing, it was breathtaking. He would welcome this pain forever if only Sam would kiss him through it. 

Sam sat back with eyes still shut, and sighed through his nose. 

Castiel watched him. “That was...all right?”

The man began to grin, but did not open his eyes. “I don’t know,” he teased gently. “Maybe we should keep trying it.”

The response pleased him. “It wouldn’t do to continue if I’ve got it wrong. Not without adequate critique for improvement. I’m afraid, without your feedback, I will-“

Sam pounced on him, and drew their lips together again with a laugh. 

Sam’s hands caressed Castiel’s face, his jaw, throat and the back of his neck. 

If only he could have had these sensations before, when the pain was not dominant, when he wasn’t fighting just to be awake and responsive…

A flinch ended their kiss, and Castiel resented it terribly. “Sam, why?” he said suddenly, in a voice laden with anguish. “Why, why, Sam, why not two days ago? Why not two years ago? I’d have loved you with all my strength, if only I had known I could! Now I’m broken and useless, and now is when you choose to let me in? Seven years ago, eight, at my strongest and most keen, I could have loved you with everything an angel is meant to be. Two nights ago, I could at least hold you. Now I can barely hold myself.”

But Sam shook his head. “Cas, this is some djinn dream. It’s not real; it can’t be.”

“It feels quite real, Sam. You may be a dream, but my weakness is real. And I’m so sorry I can’t give you exactly what you deserve. Please know that I want to.”

“Shh,” Sam soothed, and he lay Castiel back down on the pillow, kissing him along the way. “It’s all right, Cas. It’s you. That’s all I want. I just want you. And if you’re hurting, let me ease it any way I can. Please. Do you want more ice?”

He stared up at his hunter in awe. “Sam, there is nothing in this for you.” He had teased a moment ago, but the new wave of pain had washed away his humor and robbed him of his joy. He did not have the energy to hate Michael, but nor did he have the capacity to adequately love Sam, and that was the most frustrating reality he had ever faced. “There’s nothing I can do for you,” he whispered. 

“I don’t need anything right now. Just let me take care of you. That’s all I need. Cas, telling me you like my touch, making me admit I like you too...You’ve done everything. Now let me do my part.”

He sighed. 

Sam kissed him softly once more, as if he couldn’t quite help it. “Cas, this isn’t forever. I promise you that. I will not let you live like this. If Bobby can’t find something, I will search the whole world. I’ll tear apart Heaven and through Purgatory, and on through Hell, until I know how to help you. So please don’t worry about me. I’m so incredibly grateful for the chance to hold you and kiss you. Don’t worry about anything else you want to give me. I’m not even done being shocked by those things yet.”

Castiel gave him a small, weak smile. “What are we, Sam?”

The man ducked his head and let his hair fall, as he always did, in the way Castiel adored. “I-I don’t know. What do you think we should be?”

“What would humans call this stage of relationship?”

Pink glowed on Sam’s cheeks. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “What would angels call it?”

Castiel hummed as he closed his eyes and sunk completely into the pillow. “Probably blasphemous.”

Sam snickered. “Yeah? I’m okay with that.”

“As am I, Sam.”

The soft tap on the door meant Jack. There was no world in which Bobby Singer wouldn’t bang on that obstruction instead. “Sam? Is Castiel awake?”

“Angels don’t…” He sighed and gave it up. 

Sam’s voice was sympathetic. “He’s awake, Jack. Come in.”

Castiel lifted his eyes to watch the nephilim slip into Sam’s space. 

“Are you doing all right, Jack?” Sam asked. 

The angel smiled to himself. 

“Me? I’m fine, Sam! But Bobby and I think we might have found something!”

It was beautiful the way the boy just beamed with pride. Castiel savored it now, especially because he knew Jack was getting his hopes up for nothing. There was no lore in the library of the Men of Letters, nor anywhere else in the world, in Heaven or anyplace else Sam had promised to tear apart, which could save a Punished angel. Certainly not Heaven. There was nothing. But he liked when Jack and Sam had hope in their eyes, so he let it be. 

Sam shot to his feet. “Show me.”

The instant he was left alone, Castiel felt cold and feverish all at once, and something about that seemed depressingly right. A Punished angel was meant to be alone, meant to burn inside while freezing outside. A worthless angel was supposed to lie prone to the elements and the desolation. This was right. He felt it in his scarred wings. 

Even knowing this was part of The Punishment, the resigned acquiescence, Castiel could not fight against it. It was a hopelessness cultivated by the very specific injury. The stripping of his wings, and the power slowly cauterizing them from the inside, somehow led a Punished angel into a deep depression. It was strange how physical it seemed. 

He realized someone was calling to him. His eyes opened, but it wasn’t sustainable. And what did it matter anyway? 

The most fitting end to a worthless, broken angel was slipping into oblivion, into the Void, where angels did sleep. Not with a bang, but a whimper.


	6. Senza colpa

Sam could feel Jack’s eyes on him, awaiting his verdict. The poor boy had researched fourteen hours straight, learning just as Sam had learned, under the tutelage of a loremaster. This was not Sam’s Bobby, but he was so close it was painful. John had taught Sam to read patterns in a hunt, taught him methodology. But most of those lessons had been for Dean, who was there on the front line with him. By the time Sam could participate in hunts in person instead of remotely, Dean knew what to do, so there was less need for John to show Sam. John had trained them both, but most of what Sam knew about being on a hunt before Stanford was learned from Dean, while watching the broad shoulders of their father as he walked several paces ahead of the boys. Everything he knew about the art of the hunt, what he didn’t teach himself, was cultivated by Bobby Singer. It was fascinating to watch Jack undergoing the same education. 

He read through the Latin again, and translated it all over again in his mind. 

“Well?” Bobby huffed. 

Sam nodded slowly. “Think it’ll work,” he murmured. 

Bobby was frowning, but Jack burst into a smile. “I know it will!” he cried, with all the confidence of a young hunter who had never had a spell backfire on him at a crucial moment. “You told me what he said, about this being a ritualistic Punishment, and when I saw this, I knew-“

Bobby cut him off. “Look, kid. It’s the best I can find. Stuff works different in this world. But I imagine guilt is universal. Ya’ll have that here too?”

Sam snorted, and gave him a smile. “Enough for several worlds,” he confirmed. 

“Ain’t no cure for what Michael did to him specifically. Can’t imagine anybody ever tried to cure that. But this might be close enough, in a roundabout sort of way.”

Jack looked from him to Sam. 

“It’s good. You did good, Jack. Bobby, did you check our coffers? Do we have what we need?”

“Coffers!” Bobby spat. “Treasure horde is more like it! I coulda used a tenth of what you got, back in our world, and fixed the whole problem!”

“If only that were true,” Sam sighed. “Okay, then. Bobby, can you teach Jack to prepare the spell? I’ll get Cas.”

The older man nodded, then lowered his voice. “Sam, you know this angel of yours...If he don’t-“

“I know. It won’t work, and we will have lost our chance to save him. But he will. I’ll make sure of it.”

He shrugged. “Okay,” he sighed out wearily. “Here goes nothing.”

Sam stepped out of the library. He made his way back to his bedroom, but stopped to lean on the wall. 

Earlier in his life, perhaps he would have prayed. His brother was being held captive by the last remaining archangel, who was bent upon world domination, or possibly destruction, or both. His mother was out searching for him, with Arthur freaking Ketch riding shotgun. Jack was a mess of emotions, looking to Sam for strength and guidance. Bobby was not his Bobby. There were refugees to worry about and a community of hunters on alert for a glimpse of an angel, whom they couldn’t kill and who was wearing the world’s most legendary hunter as a meatsuit. Who even knew where Charlie and Rowena were? 

And Castiel lay in agony in his own bedroom. Castiel, the brave soldier who had become the fallen Punished; once one of legion, now solitary; once brimming with purpose and certainty, now drowning in self-doubt. Castiel. Sam’s angel. No more was he innocent, but yet neither was he guilty. 

Sam closed his eyes tight, then refocused himself. “He’s not.” He took a deep breath. “I just need him to see it.”

For the spell’s success relied entirely upon Castiel’s ability to shrug off the crime for which he was Punished. If Castiel thought, if he even the slightest bit felt, that The Punishment was deserved, it would be a permanent sentence. The Senza Colpa spell would release Castiel from the effects of his Punishment if only there was no guilt in his own mind. 

Sam remembered Dean facing judgment from Osiris, and how horribly that had almost gone. He had just been given permission to love Castiel. He couldn’t lose him to this pain. What if Castiel fared as poorly in this trial as Dean had in his?

He straightened and moved to his room again. Maybe Sam was 0 for 1 in his law record, but he was about to even things up.


	7. Grasp the Truth

Despair scuttled into the shadows of Castiel’s mind as Sam’s brightness returned. He sighed with relief. “You came back,” he murmured. 

Sam grimaced at him. “You knew I would.”

“I hoped you would.” That wasn’t the same thing. This pain was searing such desperation into his heart that he had known nothing for sure except that he wanted Sam to return. It was like the hunger he remembered from his time as a human, aching, wretched emptiness inside him, growing in a way he could neither understand nor stop. “The Host has quieted, Sam,” he wheezed. “I can’t hear anything anymore. I lost my mind when I lost those voices years ago, and tapping back into angel radio now and then was all that I could do at times. I can’t even do that now. Angels are meant to be parts of a whole. Now it’s all silent, and I thought I had lost you too, and I can’t!”

His hunter hurried to his side, and put his hand on Castiel’s forehead. The cool fingers soothed some of his panic, just as he had always used his fingers to the forehead to exert his powers to heal or harm. “Shh! Shh, Cas, it’s okay. I will always come back. Okay? As long as I still have breath and my own free will, I will always come back to you.”

Castiel had once seen Sam with his lungs removed by a particularly sadistic brother. He tried to put that memory out of his mind, but not before it could punch him in the gut with the guilt of not having been able to prevent Sam’s panic and pain. “Sam, why? You have always come back to me, and I have hurt you or failed you so many times. Dean yells at me. You never do. The only time you ever lost your patience with me was when you were without your soul. And who was to blame for that? A stupid, arrogant, worthless angel.”

Sam grabbed him in an urgent embrace. “No! No, Cas. Stop. You’re spiraling. Okay?”

“Sam, I should have remained dead. For all my attempts at helping, I’ve done so much damage. And now? The one thing I fell for in the beginning, the thing that began it all...Michael has his Sword. Everything has been for nothing. All of it. I’ve failed entirely.”

But Sam Winchester was holding him. “Castiel? I know you aren’t all with me right now, and I need you to be. I need you to try.”

Was there anything he wouldn’t do for Sam? Inevitably, he would fail, but he would try, and try again, anything Sam asked of him. “You need me,” he murmured. He struggled to focus, to regain access to his body and command it again. “Is it Dean? Have we found him?” He would face Michael again, truly fight him if needed, perhaps distract him enough to let Dean expel him. If he could just hold out long enough before dying, if he could just give Dean time…

Sam shook his head. “No. Not Dean. Not yet. God, Cas. You’re in so much pain, but you’re ready to try to face off against an archangel again, aren’t you?”

“I have to,” he mumbled weakly. “Until Jack regains his strength, I’m...Even like this, I’m the best chance we have.” He corrected himself. “Dean is the best chance we have. But I’m the only one who can take Michael’s wrath long enough for Dean to expel him. While Michael is destroying me, perhaps Dean will have the chance…”

Sam lowered his lips to Castiel’s in the merest of kisses. Castiel knew it wasn’t deserved, but he let his heart fill with the feeling anyway. “Cas? You’re more than what you can do for us,” he reminded him gently. “Please don’t talk like losing you is a fair trade for buying Dean some time. I know my big brother. He’s going to pull this off. And we’re not losing anybody. I’m not losing you. But I do need you, right now. Will you do something for me, even if it’s painful?”

Castiel lifted his gaze, and looked into those worried, hazel brown eyes. Amazing. The way Sam’s eye color seemed to change, just as Castiel thought he had figured it out, was simply amazing. His Father’s loveliest flecks of art stared down at him with an earnestness he would never be able to deny. “Anything, Sam. You know that. All I am is broken, a waste of grace and flesh. But all I am is yours.”

Slowly, he realized there was fear in Sam’s eyes. “Castiel, look. I think I may have-That is, Jack and Bobby found something, a spell, which can reverse this-this Punishment of Michael’s.”

He smiled sadly. He should indulge them in that fantasy, since they had worked so hard for him. “A spell. What sort of spell?” It didn’t matter. There was no spell strong enough to undo what Michael had done. Unlike Lucifer when he had been collared by Rowena and Gabriel, Michael was at his full strength. There was nothing. 

“It’s a basic spell. We have everything we need. It isn’t complicated. But I need a component only you can add.”

Castiel snorted. “I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters,” he responded softly, as he settled back on the pillow to stare at the ceiling. The pain seared into him endlessly from its source in his wings, but lying on his back made no difference. 

Sam’s hand was on his. There was urgency there, but his voice remained calm and gentle. “Cas, this spell should be able to reverse everything that he did, but you have to believe this Punishment is unjust.”

The words seemed to soak in slowly, and Castiel began to frown before turning back to his hunter. “What?”

A tongue darted out to lick tight lips. “This is a Punishment, you said.”

Castiel heaved himself to sit up, and had to accept Sam’s help to do so. “Yes. It is a sentence for a crime against Heaven. Against Michael. The accusation is uselessness, worthlessness, futility in fulfilling my responsibilities to Heaven and the Host. Judgement cast by Michael is absolute and immediate. And permanent.”

Now, his hunter took both his hands. “Maybe not. Because you may have been sentenced but you didn’t actually deserve to be.”

His frown deepened. “Sam, how can you say that? I’ve been the most hated angel in the Host, second only to Lucifer himself, and I even played vessel to that monster. I’ve been cast out, warred on, hunted, tortured and loathed by my kind! How can you say I don’t deserve this treatment? This is the law of Heaven, and I have broken every part of it.”

“But not for reasons that make you guilty!”

Father help him, Sam Winchester was the perpetual, unflagging optimist, and loyal to his marrow, and Castiel loved him for it. “Sam, this isn’t going to be voided on a technicality. My wings are shredded, rent from my grace. They will not heal, and no amount of positive thinking-“

“Cas, you’re not even trying! Please! Look, we are going to cast this spell. It won’t make things worse! So you need to get on board, because it just might make things better!”

He sighed. “What would you have me do?”

The large man was holding onto his emotions, but they were beginning to make those lovely eyes sparkle. “Dammit, Cas! All you have to do is admit you were Punished unfairly, and the spell will free you of the Punishment’s effects! It’s worth trying!”

“Sam-“

His dear human shook his head, and jabbed a finger at him. “It’s worth trying because you’re worth saving! Nothing is worth losing you, Castiel! You deserve love and respect and forgiveness, and you do not deserve this!”

He was silent in the wake of Sam’s hoarse shout. 

The lower lip which had been so sweet in their shy kisses was trembling now. “Please,” Sam breathed. “Just try. Because I know you, and you may feel guilt, but you are not guilty. I need you to know that. Don’t just hear it. For this to work, you have to know it. You’re not innocent, Cas. But you’re not guilty, and that has to be clear in your heart.”

Castiel watched Sam for a moment, attempting to withstand the pleading stare that Dean referred to, fondly and annoyedly, as the puppy dog eyes. It was truly an art form. “Sam…” He meant to protest. He meant to explain the endless barrage of evidence stacked against him. He meant to restate all the things the entity in the Void had spat out, stories from his own mind, tales of failure. He meant to remind Sam just how much of a disappointment he was. 

But there were those eyes, full of trust and hope, and even love. 

Sam loved him. Sam believed in him. 

Castiel took a deep breath. It hurt to do it, all the way through his being. But it gave him strength to push through his pain and depression to see Sam’s truth. “Michael may believe I’m guilty. Worthless. But...but Sam Winchester believes I am worthy. God has continued to bring me back to fail again and again. And this time, Jack did so.”

“See?” Sam said frantically. “See? Jack’s a good kid, man! He brought you back because he could feel your worth even before he was born!”

He could feel the Punishment fighting against him, burning him from the inside with an increasing intensity, but he pushed himself from the bed into a stumble. He was Castiel, the fallen seraph, not an angel of the Lord anymore, as Michael wanted him to be, but an angel of the Lord’s creations. 

Was he worthless to Michael? Undoubtedly. He planned to be far more a problem than that as soon as he got the chance. 

He was worthy in the eyes of Sam. In those deep hazel enigmas, which gazed down at him with such devotion, Castiel was worthy. “Sam, tell me your truth. Tell me what I am to you. And I will believe it too. I have felt useless and helpless in my long life, and it eats at me now. But your brother trusts me. Your mother cares for me. Jack believes I am good. And this is the family to whom God Himself gave custody of the world. It would be folly to agree with Michael’s judgment over yours. Tell me your truth, and I promise it will be what I carry in my heart.”

His reward was Sam’s stunning smile, his pouncing embrace. The pain seemed muted in the arms of his hunter. Perhaps Castiel was right that this spell had no hope of overriding the most powerful being left on this world. But Sam loved him for trying, and that was enough. 

“Castiel,” Sam murmured into his ear. “I need you to believe that everything you did, you did for love of your family. You loved your angel family more than most of them deserved, and you gave everything for your human family. Mistakes you made along the way were made because you believed you were protecting them and us. You’ve never been malicious, Cas! And intent is a huge part of guilt. This Punishment can’t touch you if you never meant to commit any crime, and if no crime was committed. This is not justice. This is Michael being a bitch. You know that. Right? Tell me you know that!”

He steeled himself against the whispers in his ailing grace, the accusations and disgust trying to attack him from within. He took another breath and plunged forward. “I was Punished for trying to protect Dean.”

Sam stepped back, and took hold of Castiel’s arms. “Exactly!”

“I have guilt in my heart,” he confessed slowly, as he called upon his unbreakable will to swallow back the feelings of shame. “But not about that. Never will I regret, nor apologize for, protecting my brother. He did what he had to in order to protect his brother from the Devil himself. Michael was the dishonorable one, taking advantage of Dean’s desperation to save you, to go back on their agreement.”

“Yes!”

Castiel forced himself to move toward the door, used his anger and Sam’s strength to keep himself stable along the way. “I will not be judged by a dishonorable angel, no matter who it is. You’re right, Sam. I’m in no way innocent. But I’ve done nothing to deserve this Punishment.”

“Bobby? Jack? The spell is ready?” Sam called hurriedly, as he pulled Castiel to the library, managing most of the angel’s weight himself. 

Bobby looked up and shrugged. “As it’s going to be,” he said gruffly. Jack nodded, and stared at Castiel. 

He could see the same determination in Jack’s eyes as in Sam’s. While Sam helped him into a chair, he smiled weakly to himself. Jack had his mother’s good heart, and-yes-his father’s charisma. He had Castiel’s dogged loyalty, and Dean’s protective nature. Jack’s gift from Sam was his hope. If there were anything Castiel would want for the boy, it would be Sam’s boundless hope. 

Sam pushed his way to the spellbook, and checked Bobby’s work. Then he smiled kindly at Jack. “It’s going to work, Jack. You did good. Bobby?”

The older man lit a match and dropped it into the collection of components in the waiting bowl on the table. The contents smoldered. 

Castiel closed his eyes, and listened to Sam’s confident Latin in his slight, sweet Kansan drawl. 

When the smell of the burning incense reached him, it seemed to seize hold of something within him. It was merciless in its grasp. Castiel sucked a breath in through his teeth. His eyes flew open just in time to see Sam’s flash bright gold with power. 

The voice was Sam’s but the words were from the magic. “Castiel? I have hold of your truth, and you cannot falsify or misrepresent the facts of your guilt. Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” he responded.

Sam nodded. “You have been accused, judged and sentenced accordingly. If you would claim this judgment to be invalid, you must show no guilt in your heart. You know this too?”

“Yes.”

“Then be judged yet again, by your own heart. If you know yourself to be clean of guilt, so may you be free of your Punishment.”

With a long sigh, Castiel smiled shakily. “I am not guilty of this crime. And this Punishment is not deserved.” He heard his own voice, and suddenly he truly believed it. There was guilt in his heart, perhaps. But it was a good heart in the end. And when this was over, he was going to use it to love Sam like he should be loved. If Castiel was worthy, let him be worthy of Sam’s love. If he was not? Let this Punishment take him. 

The spell passed judgment immediately, and Castiel heard Sam’s voice again. 

“You are freed by your own heart.”

He gasped as the magic went to work. He stumbled again to his feet. He could feel the darkness threatening the light of his grace dissipating, could feel his wings sewing themselves together effortlessly. Relief flooded him all over, as the last effects of Michael’s Punishment crumbled away. 

Tears washed his cheeks as he looked up at Sam. 

Jack began to laugh. “Your wings! Castiel, your wings!”

He could not look away from his hunter’s eyes. “Yes, Jack. Thank you for your part in healing me. And you, Bobby.”

The old hunter sighed. “Just glad you pulled it off in the end, kid.”

“Sam?”

His human hurried to his side. “Cas? You’re all right now?”

Worthy of Sam’s love. 

Castiel smiled happily. “I’m better than all right.”


	8. Jagged

Kissing Castiel made Sam’s brain short-circuit. It made him sigh out what little breath he could catch.

The interest had occasionally been there, but he had never kissed a man before. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t a man. This was the sky and the ocean and the storm between them. This was what Heaven wasn’t, but should be.

Castiel’s hand was at the back of his neck, fingers in his hair. He wasn’t pulling Sam to him so much as wrapping him into a protective embrace. And there was something else too.

Breath hissed through Castiel’s teeth sharply.

Hazel eyes blinking with want stared down at him. “They’re all right?” he murmured.

The seraph smiled up at him from where he lay on his back. “No, Sam.” His voice made Sam shiver. “They’re incredibly happy.”

Sam grinned at him, and lowered himself onto the strong body below. “Your wings are happy? Does that mean the rest of you is happy too?”

“All of me is happy,” he confirmed. “It has been years since I didn’t want to be in this place with you.”

He couldn’t help teasing a little. “In the bunker? You’ve been here before, lots of times. What’s different about this time?”

The crooked smirk needed to be kissed again. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Sam burst into laughter. “God, Cas. I’m so in love with you. How did you never know?”

His angel narrowed his eyes. “You stabbed through the chest with an angel killing blade, Sam.”

He cringed and settled next to him on the bed. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fair. But in my defense, you were an Old Testament sort of god at the time, and high on millions of Purgatory souls, so...there’s that.”

“And that is also fair,” Castiel murmured. “Let’s never hurt one another again.”

Sam couldn’t stop touching Castiel’s face. He had expected the male skin to feel rough, abrasive. But it turned out to be exactly the right kind of strong and soft at the same time. He wondered if that was how he felt to a lover. “I’ll never hurt you again, Cas. I never wanted to hurt you then.”

“I know. And it is the same for me. I will never hurt you again, Sam. Thank you for wanting to save me.”

He ducked his head into Castiel’s chest, and he tested out lying on it. This was nice too. No wonder lovers had lay on him. It felt safe there. “Thank you for wanting to love me.”

Castiel’s hand was in his hair now, and he liked that too. “I didn’t,” he said softly. There was an ache in that ancient voice. “It hurt like nothing else, not even Michael’s wrath. Loving you was more painful than the Lance or the Punishment. I didn’t want it. But I had no choice in the matter. I tried not to love you, then I tried to simply not love you so intensely. It was stupid and futile. But I tried.”

Sam closed his eyes. He could feel the angel’s words in his own heart. “I felt that way too sometimes. I’m sorry, Cas. I wish we had been honest with one another a long time ago.”

“When you and your brother were in that prison, I was so devastated, Sam. I can’t tell you how broken I was. Mary kept trying to reach me, but I was so...despondent. It’s the only way I know to describe it. I tried to carry on, and do what you two would have done, but my heart was in pieces. Apparently you must be whole to be a good hunter.”

He snorted softly. “That doesn’t seem right. You think Dean and I aren’t each a little broken?”

Castiel looked down at him. When he lifted his eyes to meet those curious blue ones, he found a frown on Castiel’s face. “That’s only true when you are separated,” he insisted. “You and you brother are whole together. Each of you may be broken separately, but you fill in one another’s jagged edges. I have never had anyone who could play that role for me. The closest I have ever been is finding my place with you and Dean, and now Jack. What you and Dean have is unbreakable. And the two of you each become unbroken when you are together.”

Tears burned in his eyes without warning. “God, Cas.”

His angel held him close. “It is my great honor and pleasure to live and love at the sides of the brothers Winchester. And I promise you I will give everything to get him back. You want me to love you, Sam, and I will do that with all my heart every day of your life, if you let me. But you need him to complete you, and I promise we will find him.”

He smiled through the blur of tears, and held onto the words as much as the angel. “Thank you. He’s everything to me.”

Castiel nodded. “I know. I miss him too. But now that you’ve given me back my strength, and given me your heart and hand, I feel as though I can take on an archangel alone.”

Sam closed his eyes again. Tomorrow, they would begin to tear the world apart, rip through every realm, until they found Dean. Tonight, he wanted to sleep off his exhaustion in the arms of his angel, the love of his life and the object of his greatest desires. He needed his own strength back, and just like Castiel, he deserved to be revived. He could nearly feel wings blanketing them, just outside his periphery.

Sam smiled.

“You’re never alone, angel,” he vowed. “Not anymore.”


End file.
